Chapter 129
Lila
One minute I was standing in Damon’s receiving chamber, Ella’s perfume strangling my senses. The next, I was in the western hall, my pulse a dull thud in
my ears.
She’d been there.
Not just in the palace, but with Damon. Alone. Smiling like she belonged, or was invited.
The memory of her voice slid over me again like oil. You’re not very strong.
I should have walked out. I should’ve said something. But all I’d done was stand there, swallowing my anger and feeling like I was back at the Pack house. Feeling like I was fourteen again.
I didn’t even remember what I’d come to Damon to say, I was too off balance.
My stomach twisted. I turned into the nearest side hall and pressed a hand to the cool stone wall, willing the heat in my face to fade,
I wasn’t angry, not exactly. I was… hollow. Like something had caved in beneath my ribs and I hadn’t noticed until now.
Why hadn’t he told me she was here? Why was she even allowed in the palace at all?
And was Asher right? Had I fallen for the man Damon pretended to be, not the one he truly was?
“I hoped I might find you,” came a voice, warm as honey.
I turned too fast. Ella stood at the end of the corridor, framed by soft light and shadow, hands folded neatly in front of her like a priestess in mourning. No guards. No entourage. Just the silent predator of my stepmother.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said, gliding closer. “You seemed a little… rattled earlier.”
straightened. “I’m fine.”
“Of course you are.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “You’re always fine. But I imagine even you have your limits.”
She stopped beside me and opened a small velvet pouch at her hip, pulling free a tiny glass vial. The liquid inside shimmered faintly–pale gold, almost
iridescent.
“Here,” she offered gently. “A tonic I’ve used for years. Chamomile, silver leaf, a touch of fireroot to ease tension. You look like you haven’t slept in days.”
I didn’t take it right away. I just stared at the little bottle in her hand. Its cork was sealed with wax, the edges clean. Harmless. Familiar.
“Why are you being kind to me?” I asked before I could stop myself.
She tilted her head, “Because you’re to be Queen, and we’re family.”
I hated how sincere she sounded. I hated that I wanted to believe it.
My fingers closed around the vial. It was warm from her palm. “Thank you,” I murmured.
“Just something to help you breathe a little easier.” Her voice lowered conspiratorially. “Don’t let anyone–especially the Court–trick you into thinking you can do it all alone. You can always come to me for help.”
I gave a weak nod and stepped back, bottle clutched to my chest. “I should go.”
“Of course,” she said, already turning. “Be well, dear,”
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Chapter 129
I didn’t look back. I walked quickly, the hem of my skirt catching on my ankles, the vial secreted away in my hand.
By the time I reached my room, my limbs ached with exhaustion, my thoughts tangled. I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the little bottle.
It smelled faintly of lemon balm and earth when I uncorked it. Clean. Comforting. I remembered drinking the same thing several times and the calm it always brought.
I drank it in one swallow.
The taste was softer than I expected–like sweet moss and cherries. I set the empty vial on the nightstand and leaned back into the pillows, eyes drifting closed.
My last thought before sleep found me was simple. Maybe this will help.
I didn’t realize how wrong I was…until the heat began to bloom hours later.
It came in waves. At first, I thought it was just the blanket–too thick, too warm. I kicked it off with a groan, forehead damp, skin flushed. But the air in the room didn’t cool me. It clung–heavy and stifling, like I was breathing through wool.
I sat up, heart racing. My skin tingled, and I knew something was very wrong.
The walls of the room felt too close, my nightgown too tight against my skin. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and immediately regretted it.
The floor tilted sideways. My vision swam, and I caught myself against the post of the bed.
My blood was moving too fast. My skin felt like it was burning from the inside out.
What’s happening?
I reached for the empty vial on the nightstand. It was still there, wax seal peeled back cleanly. My fingers hovered over it, remembering the sweet, mossy flavor. The shimmer. The promise.
I closed my eyes and listened–really listened–for the one voice that always came when I needed grounding.
Ruby?
Silence.
I tried again, pushing past the ache behind my eyes. Ruby, talk to me. Something’s wrong.
Still nothing. But then–a faint ripple. A twitch in the connection between us. Claws dragging weakly against a glass wall.
Too heavy, Ruby finally whispered. It’s pushing me down… I can’t…
Ranic flared in my chest.
I forced myself to stand, gripping the edge of the nightstand as nausea coiled in my stomach. My limbs were heavy, slow to respond. Each breath felt too shallow, like I was inhaling steam instead of air.
I drank it. I let her give me something and I drank it.
I staggered to the basin and splashed cold water on my face. It helped–but only for a second. My skin was still flushed. Everyone was all wrong.
My wolf–my self–was slipping.
The silence between Ruby’s words grew my panic, it felt like she was being buried alive. And I handed the shovel to Ella without a thought.
“No,” I whispered aloud, voice hoarse. “No, no, no-”
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Chapter 129
I staggered to the bath and gripped the edge of the washbasin until my knuckles turned white. Tried to steady my breathing. Tried to anchor myself in anything real.
The grain of the wood beneath my palm. The chill of water droplets on my skin. The sharp tang of the candle melting on the windowsill.
But it wasn’t enough.
The moment I closed my eyes, I felt it–that shrinking sensation deep inside. Not just my magic. My wolf. Ruby wasn’t retreating. She was being suppressed.
Drugged.
Caged.
I pressed both palms flat to the wall and let my forehead rest there. The coolness helped. Barely.
“I shouldn’t have taken it,” I whispered.
My voice cracked.
Not because of the pain—but because of what it meant. That I hadn’t trusted myself. That I’d let exhaustion win. That I’d let her see the cracks.
And she’d filled them with poison. Literally.
She’s breaking me slowly.
It wasn’t just a tonic. It was a message. A loud and clear one. Ella had marked me with a fading wolf and a body too weak to fight back.
I pushed off the wall and stumbled toward the bed. I didn’t climb in–I sat on the edge, arms wrapped tight around myself, rocking slowly like the motion might keep me whole.
I wouldn’t tell anyone. Not yet. I didn’t want to give Ella the satisfaction of knowing she’d gotten what she wanted
But I also couldn’t deny the truth: My body was betraying me. And my wolf was slipping further away with every breath.
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AD
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